Thank you all for your lovely words, and for your kindness in welcoming me back after my brief hiatus. I'm feeling rejuvenated and excited to get stuck into the OoTP storyline, of which we'll join back up with in this chapter. I'll try to keep angst to a minimum… but I can't promise that ;)
Hermione's last days in Bulgaria flew past. The pockets of time she spent alone with Viktor seemed to stretch on forever, whilst the hours they shared exploring the Rhodope Mountains with Valentin, or tending to Ana's miniature zoo in the evenings, passed in a blink of the eye. In just a fortnight she'd come to think of Viktor's small, spellbinding piece of Bulgaria as a third home. Every night she lay awake in bed contemplating how lucky a girl she truly was to have not one but two other places, two other families, where she felt she belonged as much as she did with her own parents in Hampstead. The Burrow would always raise feelings of nostalgia and acceptance for her, a home full of life, magic and love. Here, with Viktor, everything was new… full of potential and temptation.
Some of that came from Viktor's devotion to showing her the best of his country, charming her with his knowledge of both muggle and magical history, but mostly it was due to a feeling that had begun to grow the moment they tumbled through the fireplace. It was as though someone had unclipped her wings. For the briefest of time there was no shadow over her and no painful reminders of her friends' suffering. She felt normal — a phenomena she'd never experienced, not since she'd started infant school and had become distinctly aware how different she was to other children. Not in the way Harry was; but because of her mind.
Away from the growing unrest back in Britain Hermione could almost pretend she was just like any other fifteen year old witch; for as long as she could keep the guilt at bay, that was. Only Viktor's reassurances that Harry was safe where he was quelled the torrent of anxious thoughts in her mind on a daily basis, and she hoped that Ron had at least made an effort to stay in contact with their best friend. On that matter she was a hypocrite — but what to say to someone who'd gone through what Harry had? And then the letter had come from Professor Dumbledore to Illian. It is advisable that all post from Bulgaria to England should be temporarily suspended. We do not know who remains loyal to us. After that a sense of foreboding had rooted itself in her gut.
They returned many times to Georgi's study together, at first under Viktor's insistence that it was the proper thing to do, to introduce her to his Grandfather in the traditional way. It felt silly to seek a blessing from a portrait, but it had made Viktor positively shine with delight, so she'd kept her thoughts to herself. Besides, the version of Georgi that presented itself to her alongside Viktor was more… Grandfatherly. He was a captivating storyteller, and as soon as he revealed a long-standing connection to the late theoretician Adalbert Waffling any scepticism towards Viktor's choice was long forgotten. Hermione had discovered a fount of knowledge and she returned to draw from it, from him, on a nightly basis thereafter.
The day of Mrs Krum's fundraising gala and Hermione's last full day in Bulgaria dawned bright and warm. In order to distract herself from one set of nerves, Hermione channelled them into another cause and granted Viktor his one wish: to fly together. Perhaps it had been poor judgement on her behalf — going up against a world class flyer — but it hadn't been the worst experience in the world. At least, once Ana had stepped in to coax her away from the spot over which she'd hovered for a full fifteen minutes, 'gathering her wits' and 'getting used to it'. Her unwaveringly patient boyfriend had faltered for the first time and after struggling to keep a straight face had called Ana in to defuse the tension. Nevertheless, by the time a house-elf materialised to call them back inside to get ready Hermione had managed to do a full circle off the Krum estate without closing her eyes.
'I'm not going to tell Harry and Ron about this, mind you, or they'll badger me to fly with them this year. I've got OWLs to be thinking about, after all.' She told Viktor indignantly as they perched on the kitchen countertop, sharing a jug of ice-cold Pumpkin Juice. Her mock-scowl didn't last very long when Viktor suggested she try out for the house team.
Mrs Krum left early to oversee the transformation of the venue, so the responsibility for helping Hermione into her dress was left to Ana. While the two of them were aligned on their practical views, the fact remained that Ana had grown up in a society that demanded certain expectations of her, and, therefore, was a rather deft hand by proxy at preparing for an event such as a gala. It surprised Hermione to no end that Ana knew her way around make up, particularly as she'd never seen her with any on before. Not that she needed it.
As Viktor's sister fought to tame her curls, Hermione stared at herself in the mirror. She'd always considered herself plain. Vanity had never taken much priority in her life; it was the lowest on a long list of things that didn't matter. However, the witch looking back at her… her smile was confident. Her chin was held high, and she looked good. The bodice of her dress fitted her petite frame like a second skin and the skirt flowed over her narrow hips in a cascade of glowing flames that flickered with her every movement. It was a sight to behold. Never before had she felt so grown up, not even at the Yule Ball, when Viktor had stared at her as though he were dazzled. There was an awareness about herself and her body that seemed brand new… and empowering.
'I wish Ginny were here to see this,' She murmured to her reflection. It winked back at her.
'The red-head?' Ana asked distantly as she battled to pull her own thick locks into a presentable bun.
'Mhm,' Hermione twirled in front of the mirror and watched in awe as the charmed fabric spun with her, 'I owe her a lot. She's younger, but a lot wiser in some respects… Gin is always trying to make me "flaunt my femininity" with Viktor.'
Ana sniggered, pausing mid-brush. 'I assure you, Hermione, my brother would still be taken with you even if you looked like a troll, which you don't,' She added quickly. 'Tonight you'll see the type of girl Viktor's used to fleeing from and that'll put to rest whatever doubts might be burning away in that impressive mind of yours. Money, a name, a bloodline, none of that matters one jot if the wizard or witch is a…'
'Git,' Hermione suggested, thinking of how Ron might phrase it. She smiled despite herself. How long would it take her friend to confront her about Bulgaria? Thankfully she had at least another week to wonder how she might tell Ron she went ahead with her plans to visit Viktor. Besides, she didn't feel like dwelling on their tumultuous friendship right now.
Ana made a vague noise of acknowledgement and returned to the knots in her hair. With a huff some minutes later she gave up and pointed her wand to the dark strands and Hermione watched them untangle before her eyes.
'You have got to tell me that spell!' She sighed.
Illian and Viktor were waiting for them both in the entrance hall when the two witches finally emerged. Viktor's father was pinning a badge to his lapel as the two witches came into view, and they both glanced up instinctively. The look of shock and desire on Viktor's face made Hermione's smile grow ever wider and she felt a rush of heat flow to her cheeks. It was the first time she'd seen him in traditional wizarding dress robes and not the formal, blood-red ones of Durmstrang. The black velvet fabric of his robes made his light skin and dark hair stand out even more in stark contrast; he was quite the arresting vision, and Hermione knew she wouldn't be the only one admiring him all evening.
Both he and Illian wore badges displaying the sigil of Sofija's charity: a reminder of their support tonight.
'And here I was thinking that I called you Firecracker because of your temper,' Viktor said thickly, his eyes roaming over her dress appreciatively. 'You look beautiful, Hermione.'
From behind his back he produced a single rose. 'From the garden,' He explained, before requesting Ana's help to fix the flower neatly amongst Hermione's French plait.
'You are both a vision.' Mr Krum said politely, his voice even softer than usual. On glancing at the grandfather clock in the hallway, he looped Ana's arm through his, conveying unspoken words to his daughter without more than just a look.
Viktor offered the same to Hermione and she took it gladly, the warmth of his body keeping the goosebumps at bay. With his other hand Viktor reached out and touched a thick scroll of parchment that Illian had just produced from inside his robes. On it, in gold ink and written in elaborative cursive, was their four names. An invitation — A portkey! The distinctive tug below her navel confirmed it, and in a matter of seconds they were away, the three bodies around her distorted amongst the flashes of her Burgundy dress and Ana's lilac gown.
…
They were in front of what appeared to be a town hall. A Bulgarian flag hung proudly above the entrance, flapping noiselessly in the gentle evening breeze. All around them Hermione could hear the familiar Pop! sound as more guests were portkeyed into the remote location — it brought back memories of her time on duty at the world cup and she smiled despite herself.
'Oh! You all look magnificent!' Mrs Krum's voice came from within moments before she appeared. Dressed in midnight-blue robes and wearing a breathtaking sapphire necklace around her neck, Hermione argued that Sofija Krum herself embodied the word magnificent. Either way, Hermione received and returned the woman's kiss and compliments with a genuine smile.
'Hermione, darling, we must get a photo of you and Viktor tonight. Your mother should see how lovely you look tonight.' Mrs Krum whispered in Hermione's ear as she leant over to embrace her. A waft of delicate vanilla perfume tickled Hermione's nostrils.
A photo was exactly the thing Hermione had craved, without knowing she was. If she had a memento of her time with Viktor, of their relationship, the months ahead might be somewhat more bearable. The scowling photographs of him in Seeker Weekly weren't her Viktor.
They parted with Viktor's mother at the entrance, leaving her to greet the rest of her guests. Wide, circular tables had been arranged in the centre of the hall, but most of the guests already in attendance were milling around in an open area, clinking champagne glasses to each other's health and talking animatedly. There was a buzz of atmosphere that they all seemed to gravitate towards.
'The worst part will be over soon, I am hoping,' Viktor promised her and then, in a clear voice, accepted two glasses of champagne from a waiter who'd floated in their direction.
Hermione was thankful of something to hold. The whispering had already begun, and it was Viktor's turn to edge closer to her. All eyes were on him; the "special" guest had arrived and Viktor had nowhere to escape to. Unlike in the unpredictable world outside, however, Viktor seemed to know what was expected of him in here. The show that followed displayed a practiced, well-oiled side to him, and as he politely returned emphatic greetings and thanked acquaintances for their compliments of his season, Hermione saw the bravery in his actions. She knew he hated every second of it; making small-talk, being introduced to nieces, nephews, well-connected aunts and uncles, and especially the enquiries about his newest adventure. And yet, as he bowed to each, never once failing to introduce her as his date, the spark in his eye never dulled. He played the role his mother asked of him, and he did so without ever showing them how much effort it took.
'It is time to sit now, do you think?' He asked at last and Hermione tried not to nod too eagerly.
The table at the very front of the hall had been reserved for Sofija's personal guests. An elegant name card identified Hermione's seat between the safety of Viktor and his sister. This is so surreal, she mused to herself. Had she told herself this time last year that she might have a place of honour at an event like this she would've laughed; not only for the obscurity of it all, but because she didn't feel out of place.
'Your coach was… an interesting man,' She thought aloud, absentmindedly stroking the fabric of her dress. The flames danced over her fingers and then disappeared from the light pressure.
Viktor laughed and the sound drew surprised looks. 'I am glad you could meet with him. He does not often come to these events, but he has been friends with my parents a long time. Without him I would not haff achieved that much, I think.
'He still talks to you like you're little,' Hermione said thoughtfully. 'Not in a patronising way, just like everything he has to say is an order.'
'Well, he was coaching me since I was five or six. In his mind maybe I am still little, and I haff not reached perfection to him. Social skills are… not his strength. But, even today he is a good ally to haff. There haff been many times when he has defended me when I was too innocent to know any better.'
She thought back to the article that Ana had sent her. So this was the Coach that had told the reporters to scarper when they'd come knocking for gossip about Viktor's potential move. He'd need allies soon.
Viktor excused himself and she watched his retreating frame thoughtfully. Had he thrown himself in the path of danger by moving to England, away from the protection of his family and friends? She couldn't help but wonder if there was something brewing back home — would she be wishing he never made that choice in a few months time?
Gazing around the room at that moment Hermione spotted the table of items to be auctioned off. There, amongst the jewellery, antiques, rare potions ingredients and an impressive marble chess set, was a golden snitch. The plaque at its side read: Bulgaria 410 v Australia 170, 1994. C: Viktor I. Krum. He'd kept it from the qualifying rounds of the world cup, she realised, all to raffle it off to raise money for his mother's hospital.
'Excuse me,' Someone interrupted her thoughts.
Hermione tore her eyes from the snitch to glance up at the three witches that had gathered around the empty table, save for her. They had to be a few years older, and all were staring at her in fervid anticipation. Hermione frowned.
'Um, hello?' She said, unsure whether she should stand, or whether she should already know who they were.
They each introduced themselves, pausing expectantly after their surnames as though Hermione might be awed by their importance. Pureblood families, Hermione supposed without much regard. There was something about their air that set her teeth on edge.
'Nice to meet you,' She said as evenly as she could manage, 'Hermione Granger.'
If the three witches had been taken aback by her English accent it was nothing in comparison to how they flinched when she returned their favour. The exchange of glances that followed spoke of their confusion.
'But you're with Viktor Krum,' The youngest insisted, 'We've never heard of a Granger linked with the Krums. You are a family friend, maybe?'
Hermione bit back a laugh. It was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. 'Oh yes, a very good friend. I'm here as their personal guest, if it wasn't obvious by the table I'm currently sat at.'
It was sweet to shut them up like that, as dangerous as it was to engage them on the topic of her and Viktor's relationship. It wasn't worth the truth getting out like this, amongst the circles in which gossip flowed like venom, but what harm would a little teasing do? You're beginning to sound like Gin, she thought with a devious grin.
'But Viktor Krum never brings a date,' They insisted.
'Yes, well here I am,' She snapped tersely, 'And, just an observation on the etiquette you all seem to take pride in — if you were ever hoping to ingratiate yourself with a family as private and respected as the Krums, I'd suggest a much more subtle method of interrogating their guests.'
Hermione rocked with laughter at their scuttled escape and dark expressions. Let them wonder. Neither she nor Viktor owed anyone anything when it came to her relationship, and that encounter had just solidified it for her. For as long as she had the power to control their path, she would, and she'd do it with a strong sense of defiance.
'Charming the natives, are you?' Viktor said wryly as he seated himself once more in the chair to her left.
'Teaching them manners, more like.' She muttered.
With the guests now beginning to find their allocated seats, Viktor was able to quietly point out some of the more influential faces in the room. There were a number of individuals from the Ministry in attendance, as well as a host of important figureheads in wizarding Bulgaria — broadcasters, authors, historians and other philanthropists. And, no matter their perceived wealth or rank Mrs Krum dutifully attended them all equally, flitting between tables to ask after their families, invite them to drink and cast their eye over the items for auction. She was in her element.
It was only when everyone was seated that Hermione registered that there wasn't a journalist in sight. If such an event had taken place in England there were no doubts about Rita Skeeter trying to worm her way inside, and Hermione sniggered at the thought. Rita Skeeter wouldn't be bothering her again anytime soon.
'How does this work?' She asked Ana under her breath. Going by Illian's serenely empty expression he enjoyed these events no more than his son did.
'My sweet sister,' Ana raised a glass to her, 'We eat. We drink. And then we give the people what they want.'
…
He couldn't keep his eyes off her.
Tonight felt worlds apart from what he was used to when attending his mother's events; usually he was surrounded by people clamouring for his attention and invading his personal space, all while lavishing him with praise he didn't deserve. However, with Hermione at his side, his confidence was bolstered. For the first time in years he didn't mind the attention. It was a privilege, finally, to put his unwanted fame to good use. If tolerating strangers meant seeing Hermione's face light up when they spoke to someone she found particularly fascinating then he would do it gladly. And he did.
After an extravagant meal of four courses, during which Viktor had eyes and conversation for only Hermione, Sofija pinned down the photographer she'd hired for the evening and insisted he stay with them until they were satisfied. It was then that Viktor found the only other person in his acquaintance who hated having their photo taken more than him: Hermione.
She wriggled restlessly at his side, unsure of where to put her hands or which face to pull, her cheeks an amusing shade of pink. Even finding a quiet corner away from prying eyes didn't help.
'Do you know what they tell me when I am being forced to do the photoshoots for my team?' He asked her gently, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer into his side.
'No; what?'
'Just smile. It is that easy.'
Hermione blinked at him, and then she was giggling, the laughter disproportionate to his poor attempt at a joke.
'So that's why you always look so chirpy in pictures,' She wheezed, totally unaware of the photographer capturing their exchange. 'Something tells me you do it on purpose, if that's what they tell you.'
Viktor winked at her and accepted the polaroid-style snaps from the photographer who was eyeing them with discreet interest. Perfect, he smiled to himself and passed Hermione her copies. Each one showed Hermione as he knew and loved her: unreserved, passionate, dazzling.
'The first item for my new dorm,' Viktor murmured, pocketing his copies.
On his mother's insistence Viktor suffered through more photos. Formality went out of the window when Ana hopped onto his back, and Hermione was all too happy to contribute to the silliness — he saw her afterwards tucking the photo of the three of them into her beaded clutch bag with as much fondness as the one of them two.
'Will you be okay if I dance with your sister?' Hermione asked demurely as other couples took to the dance floor. She was eyeing his parents waltzing as though she were a girl bewitched.
A smirk crossed Viktor's lips and he urged her forward to where his sister was waiting, fighting back the temptation to tap her bottom at the same time, 'Please. You will save my family's honour; they will all ask her to dance and my father will feel himself forced to protect her like a dragon does its eggs…'
Watching them attempt to dance was infectious. While Ana had suffered through years of dance classes, Hermione possessed two left feet and yet that didn't hamper her enjoyment one ounce. He could sense her disappointment when his mother called all the guests back to their seats for the announcement of the winning bids
'Good evening, all. It is my family's great pleasure to host you all this evening. As you may know, it is not often that we are all able to be together; what Illian and I did to deserve such talented children, I do not know —' Polite laughter. Viktor translated quickly and Hermione squeezed his hand back tenderly. 'But I am grateful for their support tonight, just as I am thankful for you having come out to champion my charity.
Tonight we are here to do more than catch up as old friends. I am delighted that you are all here to hear the nature of my research before all others, before it becomes a matter of public speculation. No matter our magical education, each and every one of us was warned of the delicacy of memory charms, instructed to avoid their use at any cost unless under the supervision of a trained Obliviator.
It is my greatest hope, and my divine wish, that a cure to the most complex of cases be found. My team and I have already begun our initial trials on a patient based in London and it is down to your infinite support that we are able to persist in our dream.'
As his mother's speech continued Viktor did his best to translate. Through his struggles and his stumbles Hermione listened eagerly to them both, enraptured, and clapped the loudest of all when his mother concluded with more of her heartfelt thanks.
'If they can find a cure it'll be revolutionary,' Hermione whispered solemnly. Both he and his sister nodded; it would shake the wizarding world, and he'd never been so proud.
'If, and when, they're successful, they'll be able to reunite so many families,' Ana was looking thoughtfully into space. 'I cannot imagine what it would be like to have a loved one out there who didn't remember me.'
'Me neither. I can't help but think this is coming at exactly the right time.'
Ana considered her quietly and then glanced out over the audience; their faces were alight with pleasures, and none seemed burdened by the knowledge of what danger lay in wait in wizarding Britain.
'You're right… but some things are best forgotten. That will be the hardest choice to make once this war is over.'
'War? Now is not the time —' Viktor said, alarmed.
'Oh, don't be so naive, little brother,' Ana snapped. 'Hermione knows it. I know. Father knows it. Why do you think our mother is making the push now for this research? When has she ever been wrong with these kinds of things before?'
Viktor simply shook his head. She was right, of course. He'd known it the minute that wizard had bewitched him in the maze; brazen use of an Unforgivable when the likes of Dumbledore or his father were in such close proximity was reckless… and without fear of repercussions. It had taken him a whole month to make amends with himself and accept he wasn't to blame. All is fair in love in war, his Grandfather had always said.
A troubled expression had come over Hermione's face.
Viktor switched off as the auction commenced. For each item his mother removed an envelope containing the highest bid and graciously thanked all those who had parted with their galleons. Time passed agonisingly slowly.
Crack.
Viktor's head swivelled to find the source of the noise. His father reacted instantaneously, his wand out below the table in an offensive position, pointing at… a house elf. One of their house elves had just materialised beside the stage. It puffed up its chest importantly and crept across the to where his father was seated, his wand now lowered.
'And for the snitch —'
Sofija paused in her flow, her eyes widening at the sight of the creature, and shot a pointed look at his father. Apparently he was acting as crisis control that evening. Illian rose nimbly to his feet and without a word the elf trailed out of the hall behind him. Acting as though nothing were amiss, his mother continued with the auction. He barely heard the winning amount.
'What's happening?' Hermione whispered.
'I haff no idea.'
The elves only ventured away from the house in a real emergency. Something had to have happened. Something serious. Could there have been an attack on their home? Was there an issue at the Ministry? Viktor's grip tightened on his wand and he unconsciously inched his chair closer to Hermione. They'd almost had three weeks of peace together; was it really going to go wrong at the last moment?
The five minutes that followed were torture. Hermione fidgeted anxiously at his side, no doubt picking up on both he and his sister's confusion. Eventually his father strode back into the room and took his seat; the elf was no where to be seen. As usual, nothing of the severity of the situation was betrayed in Illian's features and Viktor felt frustration bloom in his chest.
'Father?' He urged.
His father's brow creased a fraction and he looked directly at Hermione.
'There is an urgent correspondence from England. Harry Potter has been attacked.'
…
Viktor's father remained motionless in his seat for what felt like an insurmountable length of time. Desperate for any reassurance that Harry was alright, Hermione clutched Viktor's hand so hard his knuckles went white and searched Illian's face for even the bleakest hint of positive news.
'We cannot draw attention,' Viktor caressed her hand with his thumb as he spoke, 'They must not know that something is wrong. We will be of more help to Harry if the Krum name is not associated with his; they will not expect it.'
At the first appropriate opportunity Illian rose to his feet and said his goodbyes. With a sharp inclination of his head Viktor's father ordered them outside and, huddling into Viktor's reassuring embrace, Hermione allowed herself to be Apparated back home.
'Father what is going on?' Viktor insisted the moment they stepped foot inside the safety of the house.
'Dementors,' Illian said quietly, 'An attack was launched on Mr Potter and a muggle relation. He has been expelled for use of magic as a minor.'
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. Expelled? Surely this was exactly what Voldemort desired. It had always been said that Professor Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared; away from Hogwarts Harry was vulnerable.
'But Mr Krum, that cannot be allowed to happen. Harry is safe —'
Illian shrugged out of his outer robes and handed them to a waiting elf. He swapped it for a light-weight travelling cloak.
'I know. It will not stick. Albus is negotiating as we speak.'
'Are you going to England then, father?' Viktor said urgently. And then, a mere glance from Mr Krum and she knew. She knew before Viktor.
'Yes. We are going to England; Hermione must go to safety while the situation with Harry is being resolved.'
Hermione watched as realisation dawned. Viktor's face dropped, and he looked between them, his mouth slightly open. He made to speak, but no words came out. It wasn't meant to happen like this; the child, the romantic in her, had dreamed that it'd be magical. They'd have a whole morning together to talk, to make plans and promises. Now she had a matter of minutes to gather her things and say the last words she might utter in months to Viktor. But she was Hermione Granger, and she had been doing this for the last five years; unpredictable was normal when you were best friends with Harry Potter.
'Right. I'll… go and pack then.' She said in a detached voice.
She stalled on the stairs. Viktor and his father were arguing, but, despite their hushed whispers, they continued in English… as though Viktor wanted her to understand.
'She is safer here, father. Why must she leave to England when we can keep her safe in Bulgaria, away from the threats. Away from him.'
Illian's voice was so soft it was almost imperceptible. She could make out the words Dumbledore and safe house. There was a chance that if she put her foot down, refused to leave, that Illian wouldn't insist. That being said, she had a choice to make. Harry needed her… and as much her heart was breaking at the idea of leaving without Viktor, their need was not as great right now. With every passing second her resolve solidified and the sharp, imminent pain receded.
'Be brave, Hermione.' She whispered to herself and climbed the last of the stairs.
There were only a few items left to pack and it took her just a matter of minutes to tidy away the last of her presence here in Bulgaria. It was bittersweet, and she looked around the empty bedroom with a pang of sadness. What would the world be like when she was here next?
'I wish you could stay to tomorrow,' Viktor muttered behind her. He'd appeared in the doorway holding his Bulgaria sweatshirt in his arms.
'Me too,' She replied ruefully, 'But maybe it's easier this way. It gives us both something else to worry about.'
Viktor's arms slipped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest. His body heat was searing through the layers of his dress robes and it absorbed the chill of her shock. Velvet lips brushed against her neck and soft fingertips brushed away her plait to make more room for his ghosting kisses.
'I hate knowing that you are going back there… into the fire.'
'I know,' She sighed, 'But someone's got to keep Harry out of trouble. Clearly no one else can be trusted.'
Viktor snorted into her hair and continued with his tantalising touches. 'I am feeling sorry for anyone who would try to get in your way now.'
She laughed, sending her elbow jutting back into his chest.
'Come on, let me help you change. You will attract every eye where you are going if you stay in your dress.'
'Maybe there will be an opportunity to wear it at Hogwarts this year,' Hermione said wistfully as Viktor stroked a hand down the length of her spine, his mumbled spell revealing the hidden zip. His fingers trembled as he peeled the material off her at a torturously slow speed.
She wasn't wearing a bra underneath; Ana had cast a modesty charm sufficient enough to retain her dignity so there hadn't been need for it. However, Viktor made no move to turn her body or touch her intimately, except for tracing patterns over her bare, goose bumped skin with a knuckle. And then he was wordlessly offering his sweatshirt to her.
'But that's special, Viktor? Only members of the Bulgarian world cup squad can own one of those…'
'I know. And I am wanting you to haff it until I see you next. It will keep you warm in the library when you are studying, and I will know that there is a part of me that is close to you at all times.'
Viktor pressed one last, lingering kiss on the sensitive skin between her shoulder blades before pulling the sweatshirt over her head. It swamped her petite frame, but the overwhelming masculine scent clinging to the cotton convinced her she'd never take it off.
How funny it was, to be stood in front of him now, with no bra and just her sensible white knickers, and yet… she felt totally at ease. Spinning her around to face him, Viktor cuddled her to him and held her until his father's voice carried from the floor below them.
'It is time, Viktor, Hermione. We must meet with Albus.'
Hermione tilted her head up and their lips met. One of them was crying; she could taste it on her lips. She never wanted the moment to end, nor to forget how it felt to have Viktor's tongue skimming her bottom lip as he deepened their kisses or the way his hands tightened their grip as he got carried away.
But it did end, and soon she was dressed in her jeans and trainers and her feet were shuffling down the staircase on autopilot, Viktor holding her hand with a solidness that kept her emotions from rising. Her head was already five steps ahead, racing through the minutiae of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, a simple defence mechanism to protect herself from facing the reality of the moment. If she could help Harry then it was worth any pain she was suffering now.
'Send me the date of your weekend in Hogsmeade and I will be there,' Viktor was saying as they met his father waiting by the gates, 'I will send Roderick with the details you need.'
Illian stretched his arm out for her. He was looking away, as though giving them a last moment of privacy.
'Goodbye, Viktor —'
'Please be safe. Please.'
'I can try.'
'And if you cannot, give them all hell, my little firecracker.'
Hermione's last view of Viktor before her vision was disfigured by Apparition was the lopsided, boyish grin that she loved. There was some relief in the prospect of being reunited with her boys, to be able to rush willingly to Harry's aid as had become tradition, but to do so meant she had to leave another love behind.
For now Harry had to be her sole focus. She was Hermione Granger, and her best friend was in trouble. There was no time hysterics. It was time to fight.
…
Some hours later she concluded that her pep talk had been in vain. Harry wasn't here and she was powerless to help him.
"Here" was 12 Grimmauld Place, London.
Hermione lay awake with her back pressed to Ginny's, the last few hours whirling around in her head as disjointed memories that felt days apart. From the moment she'd stepped into the decrepit, neglected house of Harry's godfather she'd been on high alert. People had come and gone, familiar faces and less familiar ones, but all with the same sombre expressions.
Her reunion with the Weasleys eased some of her residual pain. Molly seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, even though her own mind must've been occupied with concerns for Harry. It'd only taken one glance at Ginny to confirm her suspicions about the youngest Weasley's feelings for her best friend, as for Ron… his awkward, one armed embrace had filled in the rest of the blanks. He, too, was processing the events that had brought them both to Grimmauld place weeks earlier than had been planned for them.
It had been an exhausting journey to get there. Illian had used his contacts to intercept a pre-planned portkey to the London Borough of Camden, for which they'd waited in the cold until the intended travellers had appeared. He'd bought their silence and hijacked their passage, but not with galleons. She didn't want to know what he'd promised them.
Hermione hadn't been surprised to find Professor Dumbledore waiting for them by Camden Lock. There was no twinkle in his eye that evening, and as he stared up at the moon, elongating the moment before he would have to greet his sudden guests, Hermione could tell he wasn't his usual self.
'You do understand, Illian, why I cannot reveal to you where we are going. The less who know, the safer we all are.'
Illian only nodded.
'I hope we will see you soon, Hermione,' He turned to face her and lifted her hand to kiss it chastely.
And then he was gone. Summer was over, and she was alone with Professor Dumbledore. The wizard present with her that night was quiet and thoughtful, unforthcoming in his answers. He barely acknowledged her before they were on their way once more, the quick succession of Apparition upsetting Hermione's full stomach.
'Professor?' She asked as they stood before the once impressive townhouse, 'A Fidelius Charm?'
'Very good, Miss Granger.'
When she didn't speak Professor Dumbledore urged her forwards by tapping her elbow.
'Miss Granger there is nothing more than can be done tonight that has not already been done. I advise you to take comfort in those already in residence. Harry will require a united front when it is time for his appearance.'
That was the most she got out of Dumbledore all evening. As she was accosted in the doorway by a flurry of redheads the Headmaster slipped through like a shadow, disappearing to the kitchen where she could hear a number of raised voices. Someone called her name and silence fell.
'What is this place then?' Hermione asked a number of hours later. She and Ron were huddled together by the fire, each cradling a mug of cocoa in their hands. The old house was draughty and cold — worlds apart from the place from which she had just come.
'Headquarters,' Ron said proudly, 'Of Dumbledore's secret society; it's him who's in charge, he founded it. Made up of everyone who fought against You-Know-Who last time round…'
Hermione listened in silence as Ron told her everything he'd learnt. He and the rest of the Weasley crew had made the move over to London some days before as Arthur and Molly's responsibilities grew (and as Mrs Weasley grew more anxious about remaining in Devon). At length the conversation returned to Harry and the latest news of his situation.
'A trial… That's nonsense!' She'd hissed at Ron, 'It's as though the Ministry actually want him to be expelled!'
'Dad reckons they're trying to hush up what happened in the maze and make Harry out to be an untrustworthy witness. No one will believe him if they think he's mental.'
'And with Harry expelled… it'll be too easy to get him out the picture and then they can continue pretending everything's rosy!' Hermione exclaimed angrily. 'So the Ministry are trying to take the easy way out.'
'Did Dumbledore ban you from contacting him too?' Ron whispered, looking nervously over his shoulder to where Fred and George were paying her clothing far too much focused attention.
'Yes,' Hermione replied hesitantly, 'But you did write to him Ron, before that, didn't you?'
Her stomach dropped when the tips of Ron's ears flushed pink.
'Oh Ron! He's going to think we're forgotten him… or worse… that we're ignoring him on purpose!'
'S'not my fault,' Ron said defensively, 'I didn't know Dumbledore was going to ban us from writing! I swear I would've written if I'd known!'
Hermione was filled with guilt. All the while she'd been out in Bulgaria having the summer of her life Harry had been stuck at Privet Drive with no connection to the wizarding world. He would be so hurt… and rightly so. She was a rotten friend. They both dwelled unhappily on Harry's reaction until, after quite some time, Ron cleared his throat.
'So… you went then?' He asked awkwardly.
Hermione looked down at herself; she'd forgotten about Viktor's sweatshirt in the ups and downs of the evening. Underneath the team emblem, a snitch and a star, the name V. Krum was embroidered in black thread. He already felt like a memory, all those hundreds of miles away. She smiled sadly and nodded.
'Yes. Yes I did.'
But she wasn't in the mood to tolerate one of Ron's violent mood swings; she jutted her chin out defiantly and fixed him with a glare. But, to her surprise, he was smiling… a little falsely, but smiling no less.
'Good. Great. Good for you,' Ron stumbled over his words, the blush from his ears now tinging his cheeks. 'I saw all the stuff about his move to the Wasps. I don't reckon yellow's his colour, y'know.'
Ron always managed to make her giggle, even when she was feeling at her worst. 'He is pretty pale,' She conceded with a rueful smile, 'Maybe he'll catapult them to the top of the league —'
'Not if the Cannons have anything to say about that.'
'If you say so, Ronald. Goodness knows the Vultures would've made it too easy for him. He prefers the challenge…. What?'
'It's nothing,' Ron's surprised expression spread into a wry grin, 'I just never expected there'd be a day when Hermione Granger wanted to talk about Quidditch.'
All of the stress of the night bubbled over and Hermione burst into giggles. Ron laughed with her, reaching out to tentatively pat her shoulder as her whole body rocked with mirth. It was a long time before she calmed down, the excess adrenaline and emotion manifesting in tears that trickled down her face and that Ron flicked away with his thumbs.
'This is just the beginning isn't it?'
'Yeah. But we'll face it together, 'Mione. You, me and Harry; like always.'
She just hoped that was enough this time.
So, there we are. Summer has come to a bittersweet end… and Hermione must return to reality.
Going forwards we will have both Hermione and Viktor's timeline in tandem, so fear not, we'll have plenty of insight into how Viktor is faring in his new team…
Thank you for all the love, and for sticking with me, no matter how long I take to update. It might be more realistic for me to promise an update in a fortnight, as I will be going away for a few days to enjoy the last of summer here in the U.K! Hope you're all safe and well, wherever you are.